


Time Enough, Later...

by Leela



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), Isaac Carpenter (Musician), Tommy Ratliff (Musician)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Community: tjrbigbang, M/M, Multi, Threesome - M/M/M, fic with art
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-08
Updated: 2013-07-08
Packaged: 2017-12-18 03:33:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/875139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leela/pseuds/Leela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tommy doesn't know what to do with the trust that Isaac offers, that he expects in return, or the way that stupidly ridiculously fucking simple things can catch Tommy right in his chest and make him want to hold on and never let go. If only he could figure out how not to fuck things up between them, and how it's possible to be so happy and so restless at the same time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time Enough, Later...

**Author's Note:**

> **Artist:** @zxtjr
> 
>  **Beta(s):** @aislinntlc, @myprivateaffair
> 
>  **Prereaders/encouragers:** @aislinntlc, @myprivateaffair, @zoodlemouse13, @myglittercat, @moodwriter, and @orasimcha
> 
>  **A/N:** My artist, @zxtjr, is awesome. She made two banners for this story (check out the NSFW one buried in the story, seriously) and my lovely icon. And she was incredibly patient with timezone differences, my story being later than planned, and just everything. Everything's in this post because she doesn't really have an LJ, but leave her some love — tweet her if you're on twitter — because she's just that awesome.
> 
> My thanks also to @catglambert, who translated and helped zxtjr and I communicate across timezones and language differences.

Tommy huffs into the phone as Adam says, "This isn't exactly my first time on TV, and the guy's not bad. He just doesn't feel comfortable with some of the changes, given that soundcheck is on Monday, and the show films on Tuesday. It's not like the album version is bad."

"That's so not the point." Tommy shoves up off the couch and paces over to the window. Leaning against the right spot on the wall, he can see through the narrow space where one of the blinds is broken off and another is bent. There isn't much outside to look at, but that's not the point. He raps a complicated beat against his thigh with his free hand and tries to figure out how to fix this.

"Well, it's what I've got. I can't exactly use backing tracks for an acoustic set." 

"Yeah, you can. I could lay some down for you tomorrow. They'd get to you in plenty of time."

"Don't worry, okay? It'll be fine." Releasing a breath that fills Tommy's ear with static, Adam asks, "How was the studio?"

Lips twisting in annoyance, Tommy considers pushing Adam to take care of his own shit instead of playing the nice guy card. Not that that would accomplish anything except to get Adam upset and leave Tommy feeling like an ass. So he shoves the thought away, and lets Adam get away with the change of subject. "It was a goddamn clusterfuck. Didn't get shit laid down today. Two hours in, I thought Isaac was about ready to jump the boards and strangle the engineer. If he had, I would've kissed the fuck out of him for it, too."

Adam's giggle is half-hearted, but it encourages Tommy to keep on telling ridiculous stories about a day filled with arguments, broken strings, blown fuses, and the intern who tripped and almost dumped four venti lattes on the soundboard. By the time they say goodbye, Adam's laugh sounds real and Tommy's shoulders are no longer hugging his ears.

Tommy stays by the window though. The street on the other side of the glass is patched with darkness and light — streetlights, house lights, the occasional car headlights. The sun is long gone, having already traveled around the globe to rise in London where Adam will sing and someone else will play for him. All these years of playing for him, and Tommy's never quite gotten used to the feeling of stepping back and letting someone else take his place.

Music skims through Tommy's mind, the changes that they'd worked out for the live version of Adam's newest release. They were fucking good, and not that damn hard for any decent guitarist to learn. "Damn it." He slaps the chords against his thigh, hard and fast, almost bruising. "It's not that fucking complicated."

"Everything okay?" Isaac yawns as he leans into Tommy, pressing his hand over Tommy's and stilling it. 

Tommy slides an arm around Isaac's waist and pulls him closer. Isaac's warm from their bed and sleepy enough to make Tommy feel guilty for waking him. That guilt mixes with Tommy's annoyance and resentment about Adam and makes him snap. "Everything's fine. Why shouldn't it be?"

"Uh huh." Isaac cranes his head so he can look into Tommy's eyes. "Sure it is." 

"Why fucking bother asking me then?"

Tommy's caught in Isaac's arms before he can spin away. He could force Isaac to let him go, but he doesn't want to hurt him. Not now, not ever. Not for anything. 

"Don't," Isaac says. "Good and bad, remember." 

Closing his eyes, Tommy wraps his free hand, the one that isn't holding his phone, around Isaac's arm. He's still not used to this. He doesn't know what to do with the trust that Isaac offers, that he expects in return, or the way that stupidly ridiculously fucking simple things can catch Tommy right in his chest and make him want to hold on and never let go. If only he could figure out how not to fuck things up between them, and how it's possible to be so happy and so restless at the same time.

"Tommy?"

Eyes flying open, Tommy stares at Isaac. Before he can think of how to put any of his thoughts into words, he finds himself blurting out, "You wanna fly to London tomorrow? Play that Later gig with Adam?"

"The one we're not doing because they wouldn't pay for the band?"

"Yeah. We wouldn't get paid and shit, but..." Tommy trails off because he hasn't a clue what the fucking "but" actually is beyond Adam needing him.

"It's not that simple," Isaac says.

"Yes, it is. I promised Adam that I'd always have his back."

"It's another country. We'd need a visa."

Tommy's stomach sinks down to somewhere around his ankles. "Fuck."

"Sucks that Later didn't happen a month ago when we were over there."

"Timing is shit." Tommy scowls at Isaac, when he pulls away instead of replying. "It's not like we can use the same visa even if it doesn't expire—" He looks at Isaac, who has a strange expression on his face. "Or can we?"

"Where's your passport?" Isaac asks, but Tommy's already on his way over to the locked drawer in the kitchen. He gets there and then has to duck back out to snag his keys. 

They both stare at the page in Tommy's passport and the visa stamp. 

"Hell if I know," Tommy finally says. "I'm gonna call Shoshanna." He picks his phone up off the table and finds the right number in his contacts. His heart's beating too fast, and he's stupidly nervous about this. What the fuck, seriously?

"Let me."

Half-reluctant, half-relieved, Tommy hands his phone over to Isaac. Then, unable to sit and just listen, he gets up and heads for the kitchen. He's got a bags of chips and pretzels in one hand and is grabbing a couple of PBRs from the fridge with the other when he hears Isaac say, "So Tommy and I were wondering about our UK visas," and can't stay away. He kicks the fridge door closed and races back to the living room. 

"So, this sponsor," Isaac is asking, "will they back us up when we hit customs?"

There's a pause while Isaac nods his head and begins to smile, and Tommy feels like hitting him with one of the beer bottles to get him to explain. "What?" he whispers. 

Isaac flaps a hand at him to shut up and turns away slightly before saying into the phone, "Okay. We'll book our tickets as soon as we hang up and email you our itinerary." After a pause, he says, "We'll bring our own. Acoustics don't take up much room."

"Fuck, yeah!" Tommy flips the cap off a bottle of PBR and toasts the phone before taking a long drink. He's halfway through his beer when Isaac finally hangs up.

"Laptop," Isaac says, looking around Tommy's living room. "Shoshanna can make it happen, but we need plane tickets. For tomorrow." 

"Seriously? We're doing it?" Grinning, Tommy swoops down on Isaac, half-falling into his lap, as he wraps his arms around Isaac and kisses him. "You are the best motherfucking boyfriend. Seriously. The best, dude."

Isaac's answer is to kiss Tommy back. It's a gentle meeting of their lips, a touch of their tongues, that so close to too much that it raises a lump in Tommy's throat. He pushes back when he can't take it anymore and gives Isaac a lazy smile. 

"Gonna get that laptop now." The joy spins back through Tommy with those words. He does a little dance on his way over to his bedroom, grabbing onto the doorjamb to stop himself from tripping over his feet. 

Bright and happy, Isaac's laughter follows Tommy into the room.

∵

Tommy survives takeoff and landing, the too-long flight with an asshole in the seat behind him who keeps yelling for the attendant, drinking even more than Tommy usually does, and bumping into the back of Tommy's seat. He even manages to handle it all without a single drink, because Isaac insists that they stand a better chance of getting through with their visa approved if they're sober. Tommy's not convinced, but seriously, whatever makes Isaac happy. Even though Isaac, the asshole, manages to sleep through most of the flight while Tommy's stuck with his music, the shitty airplane movie, and the asshole.

He rides the high of actually figuring out a way to make this work all the way from LA to Heathrow, until they're next in line for customs and watching the customs agent interrogate a couple who are so normal that they make Tommy itch. His gut twists and his stomach lurches, and he has a desperate urge to sprint to the nearest bathroom. Stroking his thumb over his passport in its holder like it's a talisman, he tries to surreptitiously check out the other customs agents. It would be so fucked up if they didn't get in just because they picked the wrong line.

"Stop that," Isaac whispers. 

"Do you see her?" Tommy says. "If Joe Schmo and his wife get the third degree, we're fucked."

Before Isaac can reply, the couple are moving away like they've just been released from prison, and the customs agent is beckoning them forward. 

"Passports," she says in a bored tone of voice, quirking an eyebrow at Tommy's hair. She follows up with the standard set of questions that Tommy could answer in his sleep after all the touring he's done. As soon as they answer, "here to play with Adam Lambert on Later," though, she gets interested.

Tommy has enough sense to let Isaac take over from there. He only speaks when she asks him a direct question, and he restrains himself to an only slightly exuberant grin and a "Thank you, ma'am" when she stamps his passport.

"I'm gonna cover my hair," Tommy says, as they near the baggage carousel. "Can you get the thing out?" They stop, and Tommy turns his back so Isaac can dig around in his backpack. Sean's beanie feels way weird on Tommy's head, tight and confining, almost claustrophobic, but it's far less of a giveaway than if he pulled his hoodie up. And it totally covers all of his hair by the time Isaac's finished with him.

"Here, these too." 

Tommy flinches and has to bite his tongue hard not to fight against them all over again. It fucking hurts to do it, even more than he'd imagined when Isaac first suggested it, but he takes the nerd glasses from Isaac and shoves them on. "If this doesn't work and some asshole tweets a pic of me like this, I'm going to have to fucking kill myself. Just so you know."

"It'll work," Isaac says. "Especially since you won't be the one carrying a guitar."

With a put-upon sigh, Tommy hands Isaac his guitar and slings the awkward square bag that holds Isaac's cajón over his shoulder. This is for Adam, he reminds himself, and when that's not enough, he reaches for Isaac's free hand and holds on tight.

For once, it's nothing like Tommy's worst nightmare. They're lucky. Their one bag comes off first, so he doesn't have to skulk around feeling like a complete dork for too long. Even better, the guy from Shoshanna's office, holding up a sign that says _Moody_ , is someone they know.

"Don't say a fucking word. Not one fucking word. And keep your phone where I can't see it," Tommy says when Ryan's eyebrow rises. "Just get us to the car so I can dump this shit."

"Not even one little picture?" Ryan grins at him. "I could get a fair bit for one of you in those glasses."

Tommy growls, and Isaac laughs.

"I wouldn't if I were you," Isaac says. "He's in a bitchy mood right now."

"Fuck you. Both of you. Hard." Tommy sticks his tongue out at them.

"Right then. The car it is." Folding up his sign, Ryan starts talking about the rain — as if it ever does anything else when Tommy's in London, even in summer — and leads them outside and over to a waiting taxi.

While the driver's stowing their stuff in the trunk and Ryan's giving him directions, Tommy dives into the backseat. He tosses the glasses at Isaac and rips the beanie off his head. It goes into his backpack and his sunglasses come out. He shakes his hair, ruffling it up and finger-combing it back into place, and then sinks back into the seat with a sigh of relief.

A few minutes later, the car is pulling out into traffic. Tommy leans against the car door and looks out the window. Listening to the rhythm of wheels against road and Isaac and Ryan's voices, he drifts into something that's almost but not quite sleep.

∵

The taxi comes to a sudden stop, jerking Tommy from almost asleep to full awareness. He blinks out the window, feeling heavy and fuzzy, and frowns for a second at the heavy clouds scudding across an otherwise blue sky and the sunlight reflecting off the oily puddles, wet road, and damp cars.

"Motherfucking London," he murmurs. Then, as a thought crosses his mind, he turns to Isaac and Ryan. "How're we getting into the place without anyone seeing? Glamberts are gonna have that shit staked out by now."

"In a few minutes, you're both going to slip down to the floor," Ryan says, "and you're going to stay down there and keep your mouths shut until I tell you that you can move."

"Duck and cover." Isaac snickers. "Perfect solution to nuclear bombs and glamberts."

"Now," Ryan snaps, and he pushes Tommy and Isaac off the seat and flat on the floor with a hand on each of their backs.

Curling up as best as he can, Tommy ends up with his forehead pressed into Isaac's thigh. He tries to move and get more comfortable, but Ryan hisses, "Stay still."

A scratchy wool blanket is flipped over them, and Tommy has to bite his lip to hold the words in when Ryan dumps a bag on top of him. From the weight, Tommy's pretty sure it's his backpack. An umph of exhaled breath lets him know that Ryan's just dropped something on top of Isaac. 

The taxi takes a corner, and Tommy's stomach lurches. He closes his eyes and does his best to breathe through his mouth, to focus on Isaac's warmth and the faded scent of Isaac's cologne, instead of the musty smell of old wool and whatever the fuck else is down there.

There's a temporary stop, with the engine idling. Tommy can hear Ryan talking to someone, explaining where he's going, and girls calling out and asking who's in the car. Then there are bumps and one long dizzying turn after another.

Tommy swallows. Isaac's hand comes to rest on his head. It's an awkward angle, but knowing that Isaac understands makes so much difference. He can do this, he tells himself, and wraps an arm around his gut as if, somehow, that's going to stop him from throwing up everything he didn't eat. 

Eventually, after what feels like an eternity, the taxi comes to a halt and the engine turns off. 

"All right," Ryan says, as the weight is lifted off Tommy's back, "you can get up now."

Getting out of the car is awkward, and Tommy feels like he needs a bath, but it's also crazy exciting. Like that first rehearsal for the first performance with Adam when he was still learning bass and all the songs, and had no fucking idea what kind of amazing insanity he'd just signed up for.

Nose wrinkled, Tommy dusts off his clothes and runs his fingers through his hair a few times to make sure he didn't pick up anything weird from the taxi floor. Then, he heads to the back of the car to pick up his guitar. By the time he's got it settled on his shoulders with his backpack, the taxi's driving off and Ryan's walking towards a set of doors.

Tommy follows along, staying close to Isaac. Their fingers brush occasionally, which helps even though it doesn't do much for Tommy's nerves. In the elevator, Tommy is struck by the thought that Adam might not be happy to see them. He can't help wondering if Adam's already got everything figured out, if they'll just get in his way. He brings his thumb up to his mouth and starts to chew on the fresh nail polish. 

"Don't." Isaac wraps his hand around Tommy's and draws his thumb down. "Stop worrying. We're going to make Adam's day. I promise."

"And if you don't, you'll make my day just getting to see him take it out on someone else." Ryan grins at them. "Now, come on. We're already late. Rehearsal was supposed to start five minutes ago."

"Fuck." Tommy's pulse kickstarts as he remembers the last time he was late for rehearsal. "Let's go."

They slow down as they get to a partly open door. Tommy stops altogether when he hears Adam's voice.

"What do you mean he's not going to be here?"

"We've found you another guitar player." Shoshanna's tone is clearly intended to be soothing, and just as clearly failing.

"Seriously?" Adam's voice rises. "You're fucking kidding me, right? That first guy, Derek, was a bit rigid, but I thought we agreed to use tracks to cover for him."

"You'll like this guy, I promise."

"He better be a fucking rockstar, if he's going to pick this up overnight. What were you thinking, Shoshanna?" Something bangs in the room. "I don't even know what to say. You know how much this fucking means to me." Adam makes a frustrated noise that's so close to a muffled scream that Tommy feels frozen in place by how much he hurts for Adam.

"For god's sake," Ryan says loudly enough to be heard by everyone in the room. "Get in there already."

A shove to Tommy's back sends him stumbling through the door. He comes to a halt only a few feet from a wide-eyed Adam. 

"Tommy?" Adam squeaks. "Oh my god, Tommy." A couple of long steps and Tommy's swept up into one of Adam's hugs, tight and perfect, and Adam's brushing a kiss over his mouth that stops abruptly at another noise.

Adam's head lifts abruptly. "Isaac?" 

"Hey, man," Isaac says. "Heard you needed help."

It's a three-way hug after that, made awkward by Tommy's and Isaac's bags and instruments but no less right for it. Tommy clings as long as Isaac and Adam let him, because these are his guys, the two sides of his heart, even if he's never told them either of them that. 

"This is a lovely reunion and all, but someone please tell me that one of these two can play guitar."

Adam's smile is so bright it hurts Tommy's heart. "Jools Holland, meet Tommy Joe Ratliff, my guitar player, and Isaac Carpenter, my drummer." 

There are handshakes after that, and the familiar routine of set up while Jools wanders over to one of the other oddly shaped performance areas to talk to three guys who are just finishing up their soundcheck. There are a few of those areas arranged in a circle, with spaces for the audience around the outside and between the band stages. Still, it's far from the strangest place Tommy's ever performed, and he stops caring about any of it as soon as he starts playing.

All the way through this combination of rehearsal and soundcheck, Adam is his perfectionist self. As usual, he manages to charm everyone, even Jools Holland who comes close to being as much of a sound diva as Adam. 

Slipping into that almost-stoned place that's far beyond tired, Tommy mostly stays quiet. He watches and listens, speaking up occasionally, but letting his guitar do most of the talking for him. Every time Adam goes off script without warning, he and Isaac follow right along without hesitation, earning nods of appreciation from Jools and smiles from some of the others. 

It gets a bit weird when Jools sits down at his piano and joins in for one song, but Adam seems to expect it so Tommy shrugs and keeps on playing.

In the end, when it's time to pack up and head for wherever they're staying, jet lag and one too many insomniac nights have Tommy all but stumbling with exhaustion. Adam slings Tommy's backpack and guitar over one shoulder. Isaac takes their overnight bag. Once they've all squeezed into the car, Tommy curls up between Adam and Isaac. Conversation floats around him — mostly Adam talking with Shoshanna, Ryan, and Rob — and he can't help but smile.

∵

The solution to finding a cheap place for Tommy and Isaac to sleep turns out to be a pullout couch in the living room of Adam's suite. It's comfortable enough, but it's also right in the middle of the main traffic area. The next morning, after a couple of hours of sleep and a few serial naps, Tommy is woken up by a clattering noise from the kitchen area across the room and stifled giggles. Resolutely squeezing his eyes shut, he manages to ignore the tantalizing scent of coffee brewing. He hauls up the covers and puts the pillow over his head when the room gets bright and Adam and Isaac start whispering at that totally annoying volume that's just low enough that he can't quite make out any words.

But then he hears a zip being opened and a rain of what has to be clothing — his clothing — falls on top of him. 

With expertise born from years of living with roommates, Tommy sends the pillow flying over in Adam's direction. He throws the covers off just in time to see the pillow collide with Adam's head. Isaac laughs, and Adam growls.

"Some of us are trying to sleep," Tommy says. 

Adam tosses the pillow back at him. "Some of us are trying to figure out what you're going to wear on TV tonight."

"Black." Tommy scrabbles at the duvet, searching for his clothes. He finds jeans and underwear, his spare hoodie, a couple of pairs of socks, and a couple of t-shirts, but no long-sleeved shirt. "Where is it?"

"This?" Adam dangles Tommy's favorite black Henley from his thumb and forefinger. 

Tommy reaches for his shirt, and Adam swings it out of his reach. 

"Oh no, you don't." Wrapping the shirt around his fist, Adam raises his hand over his head and backs away from any piece of furniture that Tommy could stand on. "I am sick and tired of seeing you on stage in this... _thing_."

"At least he didn't bring his leather jacket," Isaac drops into the silence.

"Not helping," Adam says. 

Tommy gives Isaac his filthiest look and turns back to Adam. "Just fucking get over your goddamn expensive tastes. Not everyone thinks three hundred bucks is play money for buying accessories." 

Hurt flashes through Adam's eyes, sharp enough that Tommy almost regrets throwing that in Adam's face after all the teasing and grief Adam got after saying it on TV. But Adam shifts positions, moving Tommy's shirt from one hand to the next, and the moment is gone.

"I'll go in my worn-out Metallica t-shirt. The one with armpit holes." Tommy jumps for Adam's hand and misses by inches. "Just fuck your fucking tall ass and _Give. It. Back._ "

For a second, he thinks Adam's going to give in, but then he shakes his head and rises up on his toes.

"Bastard," Tommy mutters, jumping and missing again. He's really trying not to freak out, but this is all he brought to wear. He didn't even think about bringing a spare. Goddamn Adam.

"Just tell him." The amusement fades from Isaac's expression as he walks over and swats Adam on the ass. "If you don't, you know what's gonna happen."

Isaac and Adam exchange the kind of looks that make Tommy feel left out, like he missed a conversation that was all about him. Fumbling for his poker face, he turns away and starts to straighten up the duvet and rescue his clothes from its clutches.

"Don't." Taking the clothes from Tommy's hands, Isaac sets them aside and pulls Tommy into a hug. "It's not like that."

"You tell me what it is like then." Tommy tries to keep his feelings out of his voice, but going by the tightening of Isaac's arms around him, he's failing miserably.

Then Adam comes over and wraps his arms around both of them. "It's like me wanting to do something for you and Isaac. You have no idea—" He breaks off and nuzzles a kiss into the side of Tommy's head. "Let me take you shopping? Buy you something to wear on Later?"

A refusal makes it to the tip of Tommy's tongue before he bites his lips closed on it. He doesn't want to say yes, to accept anything in exchange for doing what's right, but he can feel how much Adam needs to give back. "If you have to," he says. It comes out surlier than he intended, but Adam doesn't seem to notice — or maybe he just ignores it.

"I know just the place." Adam spins away, looking as gleeful as a glambert caught in an elevator with him. "I was there a couple of days ago,"

After that, it's like getting caught in a whirlwind. Tommy feels as if he barely blinked between saying yes and finding himself in the middle of a store holding a takeout coffee and watching Adam wander around the store, occasionally handing a piece of clothing to an overenthusiastic puppy of a store employee named Albie.

Isaac leans over and whispers, "How scared should I be?"

"Terrified out of your fucking mind." Tommy sips at his coffee as Adam throws something purple and shiny at Albie. "He's not on a shopping trip. He's on a mission."

Groaning, Isaac reaches for Tommy's cup. For reasons that always seem to escape him, Tommy not only lets Isaac take it, he doesn't object when Isaac takes a long drink. 

"This one." Adam holds up a strangely patterned grey and blue shirt. 

Tommy shakes his head and takes a step back. "Not for me." 

"Okay, my pile then." Adam drops the shirt onto a nearby table and reaches for the next item in the pile on Albie's arms. "Isaac, love it? Hate it?"

Handing Tommy back his coffee, Isaac hums and says, "Love it, I think." 

"Come on." Adam beckons him forward. He holds the shirt up against Isaac's chest, and as far as Tommy can tell, it looks pretty damn close to perfect. Dark grey with a v-neck and some kind of red thread picking a pattern through it.

"Yeah," Isaac says. "Definitely love it." 

They both turn to look at Tommy. Even Albie bounces on his heels and seems expectant. 

It's an odd kind of power to have, Tommy thinks, especially for someone who doesn't give much of a shit about his own clothes beyond comfort. Except even he can see what this is going to look like on Isaac. He nods, and a smile starts to curve his lips. "Sexy as fuck," he says, "with those tight black jeans Isaac brought with him."

Adam beams at him, Isaac comes over and kisses him, and Tommy feels a bit like he just won the lottery. Until he looks at the purple opaque thing that Adam's shaking at him.

"Oh fuck, no. Nothing with sequins or glitter or fucking," Tommy waves a hand down his chest, "floofy shit."

Frowning at the fabric, Adam says, "This isn't—"

"Yeah, it is."

"He's right," Isaac adds, at the same time as Albie says, "Yup. Floofy."

"Et tu, Albie?" Adam's face gets so pouty and sad that Albie looks like he's going to cave any second.

"Three against one," Tommy says. "No floofy shit."

Tommy rejects the next four shirts immediately, considers the fifth for a few seconds before directing it toward the reject pile. The next one, though, fucking calls to him so hard that he finds himself actually moving closer so he can touch it. The shirt's soft and silky, seems to hold a thousand colors within its black fabric, and he wants it badly enough to avoid glancing at the price tag.

"Yes?" Adam places the shirt against Tommy. "Because I love it on you."

"Me too." Isaac comes to stand on Tommy's other side and smoothes the shirt over Tommy's chest.

A squeak has them all turning to Albie. "I could go put this all back," he says, looking like he's on the edge of panicking. "Leave you lot alone while you decide."

"I've got this," Adam murmurs. He heads over to Albie and sweeps him over to the cash register, talking to him, charming him, taking pictures with him. 

By the time they leave, Albie's fallen completely under Adam's spell, and Adam's carrying more bags than seem possible given the few clothes they picked out. For his own sanity, Tommy decides not to ask. Thankfully, Isaac leaves it alone too.

∵

Later is totally awesome, and nothing like anything Tommy has experienced in the US. He hasn't a fucking clue who the other singers and bands are, but whatever. Seriously. He's definitely going to be looking a couple of them up on iTunes as soon as he gets a chance. The jam session at the beginning is the absolute shit. He and Isaac get to trade off with a badass neo-punk band from London. Tommy finds himself wishing he'd brought his Jag too. Shredding on that would've been fucking amazing.

The actual performing goes by in a blur. Tommy's peripherally aware of the cameras and the other people in the studio. But, like it always does when they're on TV, Tommy's focus narrows down to Adam and Isaac and the music that they're making. In between, while Jools is talking — and seriously, who the fuck uses "Ladies and Gentleman" that often in this day and age — or one of the other bands are playing, Tommy kicks back and listens. 

When all the performances and interviews, live and taped, are over, Tommy sets his guitar carefully on its stand and stretches.

"I love you guys. So damn much, you have no idea." Adam's emotions spill over onto Tommy, so infectious in their brightness, as he first gives Isaac a hug and then wraps his arms around Tommy and kisses the top of his head. 

Feeling his face starting to go red, Tommy pushes it into Adam's chest and mumbles, "Whatever, man."

"Anything to keep this guy from losing what's left of his mind." Isaac comes up behind Tommy, pressing him into Adam and kissing the back of Tommy's head. 

Tommy flushes even redder. He tells himself that he's embarrassed by Adam's gratitude, but it's not exactly that. Or not just that. Or some fucking thing that Tommy doesn't want to think about. So he curls one hand around Isaac's and focuses on that touch, on Isaac's presence. "Not losing shit," he finally says. "Not over you fuckers."

"Of course, you're not," Isaac says, far too agreeably. 

Adam gives Tommy another quick squeeze and reaches over to ruffle Isaac's hair. "Just don't leave without me." 

"Oh, yeah," Tommy says. "We're totally gonna do that. Just like always."

Giggling, Adam heads off to press the flesh and make nice with the boring people who matter.

Isaac jerks his head towards the gathering of musicians over by a table. "Wanna go hang?"

Tommy's tempted to say no and head back to his guitar for a while, but he knows better. They've got their own connections to make. Playing for Adam is great, but they both need to do more than that in the months and years when Adam's not touring.

Reluctantly letting go of Isaac's hand, Tommy ambles over behind Isaac. They shoot the shit with the other musicians and a cute chick singer who's neither famous enough for the powerful to come to her nor smart enough to make them pay attention. He even makes a couple of new friends that he's gonna follow on Twitter as soon as he has time. If he remembers who they are.

∵

∵

By the time Tommy's out of the shower, and still not sure whether he would have been more uncomfortable showering with Isaac than he was on his own, knowing they were waiting for him, Adam and Isaac are stretched out on the king bed, pillows piled behind them. Isaac's got his favorite blue-striped cotton pajama bottoms on, and Adam's wearing a black tank top and silky black pants. There are two tumblers and a selection of midget bottles of booze on the nightstand next to Isaac, and there's an empty pile of pillows between them.

Tommy brings a thumb to his mouth, running his teeth over the nail. The bed looks damn comfortable, and there's more than enough room for him between them. But that restless feeling is rising in him again — the one that leaves him convinced that he's going to fuck everything up with Isaac — and he has a sudden urge to head for the living room and that not-quite-comfortable pullout couch. 

The TV channel changes, a commercial blaring louder, and Tommy almost bites through his nail. He glares at Adam, whose only answer is to raise an eyebrow and click the remote to change the channel again.

Isaac, though, sits up and beckons to Tommy. "C'm'ere babe. This bed is too big without you."

Still reluctant, for reasons that he's not willing to let himself contemplate, feeling as if he's being dragged there almost against his will, Tommy slowly moves across the room and crawls onto the bed. It's not until he's in between them, with Isaac curled around him and Adam close enough for Tommy to feel the heat of his body, that Tommy realizes there isn't as much room as he thought. 

But Isaac's got an arm over Tommy's chest, and Tommy's got his head on Isaac's shoulder, and it's just too damn comfortable to think about moving. Adam settles on _Giant_ with Rock Hudson and James Dean looming large on a TV screen that's bigger than the one Tommy has at home. 

Everything catches up with Tommy as he's lying there: the worry over Adam, the flight, the time difference. He's in a post-performance haze, not quite asleep but not really awake either. Isaac and Adam's murmured conversation merges into the voices from the TV, and Tommy falls into a strange world where he and Isaac and Adam are dressed in old-fashioned western gear.

An image of being caught between Isaac and Adam, able to feel their sweat, to smell Adam's faded cologne, to taste their warmth, catches Tommy's heart in his chest. He blinks his eyes open, only to see Isaac and Adam above him, their bodies pressing against him, mouths almost touching. 

"Oh." The syllable's barely a breath of sound out of Tommy's mouth, forced out by the lightning storm that flashes through his body at the sight of them, but it's enough to break them apart. 

They both look down at him, neither moving away to give him space. Something moves inside Tommy, an ache grows inside him, and he can only stare back at them. 

Isaac pushes Tommy's bangs off his face and runs his fingertips down the side of Tommy's face. It's a gentle, possessive touch that always goes right to Tommy's dick. Turning his head, Tommy kisses Isaac's fingers. 

"Yes or no," Isaac says. "It's your choice."

The offer, the images that rise up in Tommy's mind, crash through him, draw goosebumps to the surface of his skin, and send arousal rippling through him. How could he not have known how much he fucking wants this? _Them?_

Guilt follows almost immediately, softening Tommy's dick and making him want to curl up, fade away, sink through the bed and down to the floor where Isaac can't see him or his betrayal. 

A hard flick to Tommy's nipple draws a squawked, "Fuck," out of him and has him placing a protective hand over both of them and glaring up at Isaac.

"You're an idiot." Isaac's expression is freaking Tommy out even more, but then Isaac bends down and brushes a kiss over Tommy's lips. "This isn't about you. It's about us, possibly all three of us. If you want it as much as I think you do, as much as we do."

When Isaac pulls back, Tommy darts glances at Adam, then at Isaac and at Adam again. Back and forth, his mind and body buzzing with shock and arousal, with fear and need. He fucking wants this, more than he ever dreamed that he could want anything or anyone, but he so totally doesn't want to lose what he has that it paralyzes him. 

The moment stretches out and out, until Adam gives Isaac an all-too-readable look — a combination of disappointment, hurt, and reluctant acceptance — that has Tommy reaching for him, pulling him close, kissing him. There's a pause, just long enough for Tommy to think he's fucked it up even more before Adam pushes him down.

Adam's mouth seems to have a direct line to Tommy's dick. Each lick of his tongue, each dragging nip of his teeth over Tommy's lower lip flares out and through Tommy, sending flickers of heat down his spine.

Then Isaac slides the waistband of Tommy's sleep pants down, and he mouths at Tommy's hip, sucking up a mark on the sensitive skin below the bone. His cheek rubs against Tommy's dick, and Tommy's back arches. He presses his hip into Isaac's mouth, wraps his arms around Adam's neck, and just feels. 

It's more than he ever fucking knew was possible. Mouths and hands touching him, over and over, until his breaths echo harshly through the room, into Adam's mouth, and all he can do is touch back, kiss back. 

He lifts up his hips when Isaac slips a hand under his ass, lets Adam pull off his t-shirt, and that's when he notices that they're both already naked. He hasn't a clue when that happened, but he doesn't give a fuck. Especially when they kiss, right over his head, and he can slide a hand over each of their chests, down and down until he has a dick in either hand.

Adam shudders. Isaac lets out a groan that's muffled by Adam's mouth. And Tommy tugs lightly on their dicks, runs his thumb over the heads — one cut, the other not. It's such a fucking turn-on, a rush of feeling, of emotion, of the realization that he fucking loves these men. Both of them. 

Letting go of their dicks, Tommy surges upward, wraps an arm around each of their shoulders, and pushes into their kiss. It's awkward and amazing, and even better when they push him back down, cover him with their bodies and he can fucking _feel_ them.

Isaac moves first, saying, "Open your legs, babe." 

Then Adam lifts off Tommy, and the only place they're touching is Adam's hand on Tommy's hip. Needing more, Tommy runs his palm up Adam's arm, over the beast tat, and curls his fingers around Adam's bicep. _Not_ clinging on. 

When Tommy spreads his legs, Adam shifts on the bed, pulling out of Tommy's loose grip. 

Tommy lifts his head to look at them. "What are you—" 

That's as far as Tommy gets. His voice turns into something that isn't a croak as he watches Isaac squeeze lube over Adam's fingers. "Fuck," he breathes. 

"Not yet," Adam says. His eyes are dark with promise, his pupils blown with lust. 

"Got a better idea, babe." 

Isaac slides a hand under Tommy's left leg, pulling it up. Adam does the same with Tommy's right leg. For a moment, Tommy feels exposed, but then Adam licks a strip up Tommy's dick, and Isaac's finger is rubbing circles around Tommy's hole. 

When Isaac's finger presses inside Tommy and Adam sucks a kiss on the side of Tommy's dick, Tommy reaches up to hold onto the headboard and spreads his legs. 

Another finger joins Isaac's, longer, thicker, sliding past Isaac's, thrusting in as Isaac pulls out. 

"Oh fuck." The words are dragged out of Tommy, a harsh rasp over his tongue, and he all but fucking undulates as he tries to give them more and more space. Then Isaac pushes another finger into him, and Adam's finger rubs over Tommy's prostate. 

Jolts of pleasure flash through Tommy as they take turns pushing into him, deeper and deeper. He bites his lip, holding in the sounds, the need that wants to spill out of him, fill the air with his babbling as they're filling him, stretching him. 

So much, almost too much, and then Adam pushes Tommy's leg higher, opening him up wider, and Isaac does the same. Their weight on Tommy's legs holds him down, but he moves anyway. Tiny rocking movements of his hips that pull them deeper inside him. Deeper and deeper, their thrusts becoming erratic, the pressure building inside Tommy, until he's biting his lip so hard that he's tasting blood. 

Until four fingers thrust into Tommy, and two tongues swirl over the head of his dick, and Tommy arches up into their mouths, and comes.

Aftershocks make Tommy shudder with each touch of their mouths. He lets go of the headboard and reaches for them. "Let me," he says.

They pull their fingers out of him and slither up his body, Adam on one side, Isaac on the other. One hand on each of their backs, Tommy clutches at them, holds them to him. They kiss him, kiss each other, and rub against him. 

"Oh my god," Adam says. "Please." 

"Yes," Tommy hisses, although he's not sure what he's agreeing to until Adam scrambles to his knees and Isaac gets a grip on Adam's bicep, as Adam braces himself against the wall. 

Then Adam guides his dick into Tommy's mouth. He thrusts in, stretching Tommy's lips, and then pulls out to let Isaac slide his dick inside. And Tommy takes what they give him, sucking, licking, letting them fuck his mouth one after the other. They fill his need to give back to them, to show them what they mean to him, what this means to him. 

And when Isaac spurts into Tommy's mouth, followed by the pulse of Adam's release, Tommy swallows as much as he can, lets the rest dribble down his chin, over his cheeks. After they pull their softened dicks from his mouth, he grins at them as best he can and says, "That was fucking awesome." 

Relief shows in Adam's smile, along with more affection for both of them than Tommy knows what to do with. Isaac just slips away, only to return with towels and facecloths that are damp with warm water. They clean each other, laughing and kissing, and toss the cloths in the general direction of the bathroom when they're done. 

Then they settle down under the covers. Isaac curls into Tommy's side, and Tommy nestles his head on Adam's shoulder. 

Tommy feels like they should talk, that he should tell them how he feels, but exhaustion crashes over him in a wave almost immediately and drags him down into sleep.

∵

Hours later, Tommy opens his eyes to a darkened room that's lit only by the flicker of the TV screen. The only sounds are the low voices from the TV and Isaac's light snores. With slow careful movements, he disentangles himself from Isaac, slips out from under the arm Adam had flung over his stomach, and squirms his way out of the covers. Adam murmurs an incoherent protest, but neither of them wake up.

In the bathroom, Tommy splashes water on his face, getting his bangs damp, and then stares at his reflection in the mirror. There might be more red marks on his pale skin than Isaac usually leaves, but he doesn't look any different. He doesn't look like a guy who's in love with two other men.

That realization isn't as much of a surprise as it should be, and Tommy can hear Isaac saying, "Duh," in his mind. Giving himself a lopsided smile, Tommy reaches for a towel to dry off and then heads back into the bedroom. 

They curl back around him as soon as he gets back into bed.

"Stop thinking," Isaac mumbles, and then he falls back into sleep before Tommy can reply. 

Adam just pushes up against Tommy's side, inhaling and exhaling in a series of quiet purrs.

Settling back to watch TV, Tommy tells himself that it'll be okay. Tomorrow and the day after, even next week. They'll figure this out. They have to, because he already knows that he can't give up either of them.


End file.
